


The Green Eyed Monster

by Scruggzi



Series: The Kitfic Chronicles [4]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Devious felines, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Just Add Kittens, Kitblocking, Multiple breakfasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24858253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scruggzi/pseuds/Scruggzi
Summary: Antony is on a mission. And that mission is breakfast.
Relationships: Elizabeth MacMillan/Original Female Character(s), Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Series: The Kitfic Chronicles [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523720
Comments: 27
Kudos: 74





	The Green Eyed Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allison_Wonderland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allison_Wonderland/gifts), [TheInspectorsSecretStash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheInspectorsSecretStash/gifts).



> Many thanks to Allison_wonderland for the beta!
> 
> The title and quotations are from Othello and seemed far too apt for a certain fluffy menace.

“Mrrrrp?” 

Antony’s large green eyes peered up hopefully at Mr Butler as he began to prepare a breakfast tray for Miss Phryne and the Inspector. 

The two detectives had been out late, investigating the rather gruesome murder of a small-time industrialist who had found himself in debt to the wrong sort of people. The inspector in particular, always liked a big breakfast after a late-night stake out, so the kitchen was filled with the delicious smell of frying bacon. 

“Mrrrrrrrp!” 

The ‘kitten’, who was well on his way to becoming an impressively sized tom cat, repeated his demands more insistently, butting his head against the legs of Mr Butler’s impeccably pressed trousers, leaving a small smattering of grey fluff in his wake. 

“I’m afraid you will need to wait your turn, Master Antony,” he admonished, toeing the cat out of his way to get to the stove. 

“Mrrp!” Antony’s indignation was palpable and emphasised by a low, irate purr which attracted the attention of Cleopatra who joined him in a chorus of discontented mewing. 

Admitting defeat, Mr Butler scraped a couple of bowls full of cat scraps together and placed them in front of the two kittens before heading upstairs with a tray, piled high with bacon, eggs and hot buttered toast. 

Antony munched contentedly, finishing first and eyeing his companion’s breakfast with interest. He was no fool however and did not even consider trying to steal it whilst she was still eating. Cleopatra was a true and loyal friend, but only a fool would get between her and a good meal, and Antony was no fool. She was also an excellent hunter and generally preferred a fresh kill if she could get one, so a little patience was usually enough to finish off her leftovers. 

Sure enough, there was still a good third left on her plate when she lost interest, bumped her nose against his in an affectionate farewell and prowled off in search of a small, squeaky victim. By the time Mr Butler returned to the kitchen, both cat bowls were clean and ready to be washed. 

Temporarily sated, Antony returned to his basket in the corner of the kitchen, watchful eyes attuned for any other opportunities that might come his way. He was not a cat averse to a second or even a third breakfast if he could get his paws on one, but you had to be patient and choose your target wisely. 

An opportunity arose only five minutes later whilst Mr Butler was engrossed in the washing up. Cec and Bert appeared at the back door, greeting the older man with the enthusiasm of working men who knew they were likely about to be fed. Cec had always been a soft touch when it came to animals and barely needed persuading on the subject of table scraps, so Antony lost no time in demanding his due. 

The two cabbies took seats at the table eager to partake of strong tea and surplus bacon (Mr Butler was always prepared). Antony hopped up onto the table next to Cec and put an oversized, grey paw gently on his hand where it rested next to his teacup. 

“G’day, Antony. You hungry mate?” he scruffled Antony’s ears affectionately and, sure enough, a large hunk of bacon was torn off the rasher on his plate. Delighted at this largess, the kitten took the offering daintily from Cec’s fingers, chomping it down before returning to lick the remaining salt from them, purring contentedly. 

Mr Butler smiled into the washing up but thankfully decided not to lag. His silence, however, cut no ice with Bert. 

“Don’t you try that with me, you thieving little bugger!” he admonished, gruff but affectionate. 

Bert was a more difficult prospect when scrounging for scraps, but far from impossible if you knew what you were doing. 

“Mrrp!” He gave the man a contemptuous glare of which the inspector would have been proud, turned his back on him and started washing his ears. 

Despite his best efforts to maintain an air of surly disinterest, Cec noticed that his partner had clearly removed the fat from both his bacon rashers and set it to the side. 

“Come on Bert. It’s redistribution. ‘To each according to his need,’” he teased, knowing the decision had already been made. 

“Since when does that bloody cat need me to redistribute my breakfast? Damn thing eats better than I do.” Bert grumbled, pointedly munching his eggs in open defiance of capitalist oppression. 

Nevertheless, once the plates had been cleared, a small pile of carefully sliced up rinds ended up being passed surreptitiously catwards – accompanied by a litany of complaints and an insistence that food shouldn’t be wasted when the working man went hungry. Antony nodded respectfully at him and wolfed the scraps down quickly before the man could change his mind. 

He was not a moment too soon. Mr Butler repaired to the dining room to get on with the dusting just as Dot Collins entered through the front door. Since their marriage she had been living with Hugh in a small cottage a short tram ride from the Esplanade, but Miss Fisher had insisted on her having her own key and using the front door when she came to work in her official role as ‘Assistant Detective’. 

Her job title may have changed, but you couldn’t keep Dorothy Collins out of a kitchen. She waved a brief hello and set a heavy basket on the table, shooing Antony onto the floor with the other hand. 

“Off the table, Antony. Really,” she glared at the assembled cabbies, “he’s not allowed up there you know.” 

“Could’a fooled me.” Bert grinned at her, well aware of who ruled the roost at Wardlow these days. Dot ignored him, pulling on an apron and clearing the remaining dishes so she could set about making a pie. 

“What’s the occasion?” Cec asked, curious. Dot’s domestic duties had been almost entirely curtailed in favour of her detective work since she had moved out of Wardlow. 

“Oh, this is for a case. Miss Phryne asked for a chicken and mushroom pie for a suspect she’s interviewing.” 

“What’s she need a pie for?” asked Bert. 

“To butter him up, I expect.” Cec replied, he had always been a big fan of Dottie’s cooking. 

“Something like that I expect.” Dot agreed, not saying anything at all about plans which may or may not have involved harmless button mushrooms masquerading as poisonous fungi, and an ‘antidote’ comprised mainly of sloe gin with a dash of Worcester sauce. 

Thankfully further discussion was interrupted by Jane, who arrived downstairs dressed for a day at the University. Dr MacMillan was due to pick her up in a few moments and to Antony’s disappointment she opted for toast and jam – a repast in which he had no interest. He was, however, rather fond of Jane, who was always game for a spot of tug of war with Mrs Collins’ knitting wool when the latter wasn’t looking. He therefore popped up onto her lap, his head bobbing up above the level of the table in the hope that she would change her mind and opt for kippers. 

Jane was munching toast absentmindedly, her nose deep in a textbook and to an outside eye it looked very much as if the kitten was equally absorbed. “A bit after your time I’m afraid Ant, this is Regency history.” She chuckled, scratching his chin by way of commiseration. Undeterred by the prospect of a good education, Antony sniffed disdainfully at her cup of tea before diving headfirst into the milk jug. He managed to get a good helping of cream before Dot once again spotted him and he was forced to descend from the table in embarrassment. 

“Antony! I told you to get down from there! And you two better get a move on, Miss Phryne left a job for you.” She levelled the last remark at Cec and Bert, who had been sniggering and taking silent bets on how long it would take her to notice the milk thief operating under her nose. 

As the red raggers were dispatched on a reconnaissance mission to the docks, Dr MacMillan arrived to collect Jane. Here, Antony had met his match. The good doctor was unbreakable. Even his softest and most flirtatious purrs had never persuaded her to give up so much as a morsel of food. She even took her tea without milk, which he suspected was a deliberate slight against kittenkind. As a consequence, she was a woman he regarded with the deepest respect and greeted her with a slow blink, a nod, and a polite ‘Mrrp.’ 

“Hello there Antony, how much trouble have you managed to find so far this morning?” 

Dot, who had finished cutting up ingredients for her pie, finally emptied the chicken scraps into his bowl and received a solemn ‘mrrp’ of thanks in return. 

“Plenty, he’s already had his head in the milk jug and been chased off the table twice. Honestly, I don’t know where he puts it all,” she added, as the little cat devoured her leftovers with indecent enthusiasm. 

“Well, we know Phryne appreciates a man with a healthy appetite,” Mac remarked dryly. 

This caused Jane, who considered herself a woman of the world since her return from Paris, to snort tea out of her nose. Dot gave her a clean handkerchief and a disapproving look, whilst trying to pretend that the remark had gone over her head, which it hadn’t. 

“You should be heading off; you don’t want to be late for class.” 

In fact, they had plenty of time, but as Jane was eager to meet up with friends, she didn’t press the point. Mac was just as eager to meet up with Dr Sharpe, a newly appointed researcher in the History department, whose enthusiasm for her subject was matched only by a recently acquired interest in the study of female anatomy. It was an area of research in which Dr MacMillan specialised and she had been more than happy to provide the benefit of her expertise. 

They said their goodbyes to Dot and Mr Butler and to Antony who had finished his chicken scraps and was looking around to see if any more food was in the offing. 

“Why don’t you go chase Phryne out of bed? I’m sure Dot could do without your constant pestering this morning.” Mac cajoled him, although it was without real rancour. She might not be willing to feed the greedy little furball, but secretly she was rather fond of him. 

Ever the optimist, Antony followed the two women out into the hall to bid them a polite farewell. He always tried to be gentlemanly in his endless pursuit of food. Resigning himself to the closure of the kitchen door, which Dot had unceremoniously pushed shut behind him, he followed Mac’s advice and made his way slowly up the stairs; a belly full of milk and table scraps on top of his breakfast leaving him a little unsteady on his paws. 

The door to the detectives’ bedroom was shut, but a faint waft of bacon floated out from under it accompanied by the kind of sounds that would have had Dot once again attempting to feign ignorance. Antony, on the other paw, was made of sterner stuff and had already discovered that a good hard shove was enough to open most of the doors in the house. He entered to find something loud and energetic taking place on the bed, but as it had – at present - nothing to do with food, he was happy to ignore it. 

A far more interesting prospect was lying in wait on the floor near the dresser. Someone had evidently decided that the bed was no longer a safe location for the partially depleted breakfast tray and had placed it on the floor; out of the reach of flailing limbs but not of enterprising kittens. He buried his face happily in Jack’s leftover bacon, licking up the fat that had dribbled onto the plate and purring in contentment. 

As he was pleasantly occupied, Phryne’s rather tousled head appeared over the edge of the bed, blinking in an effort to bring the room back into focus. She spotted him and huffed out a somewhat hoarse chuckle. 

“It appears we have an intruder, Inspector – and he’s helping himself to your breakfast.” 

An equally tousled and somewhat out of breath Jack came up behind her, sparing a brief glance for Antony before pulling Phryne into a passionate embrace. 

“He’s welcome to it. I’m hungry for something else,” he growled. An unusual response from him, as he was usually much more protective about his food. 

Antony had frozen in anticipation of a scolding and was about to return to his feast when his stomach gave a lurch. His digestion was normally exceptionally robust, but this was his sixth breakfast, and despite his size, he was barely more than a kitten. Luckily his species was endowed with the perfect solution for such a problem and he lost no time in bringing the whole business straight back up again. 

Phryne winced, placing a hand on Jack’s bare chest and pushing him back slightly. 

“Not exactly the most romantic of atmospheres. Perhaps you could deal with it, before we get back to…” 

“We could just face the other way,” he suggested, a little desperately. 

“I can smell it, Jack.” 

“Fine. Don’t stumble across a murder before I get back.” 

“I wouldn’t rule out felicide,” she muttered darkly, causing Jack to huff out a reluctant laugh as he pulled on a pair of pyjamas and a dressing gown. 

Wary of a possible dressing down, Antony scampered to safety under the bed, hearing the door click behind Jack as he made to remove the breakfast tray and its offending contents. 

“Come out, you miscreant. Come out and face the consequences!” 

Despite the inherent sense of dignity and independence that came with being a cat, Phryne’s voice was one that, much as he hated to admit it, Antony had never been able to resist. He wriggled out from under the bed, appropriately, if unconvincingly shame faced and jumped up onto the silken sheets, snuggling down into the warm patch which Jack – well, mostly Jack – had just vacated. 

“ _ You _ are a devious little trouble-maker,” Phryne chastised him. Tickling his ears and chin, then kneading the tender, fluffy spot on his belly that only she was privileged to be allowed to touch. He scrunched his paws up in appreciation, baring the tiny strip of ginger fluff, normally hidden amidst the grey and purred like a Geiger counter. 

Jack returned a few minutes later, sans tray, to find his spot on the bed and his lover fully occupied. Antony’s eyes were closed in blissful appreciation of Phryne’s attentions and Phryne was wearing the look of tender adoration she normally reserved only for Jack. She looked up as he entered and cackled aloud at the look of disgruntlement on Jack’s face at having been so easily replaced. 

“O beware, my Lord, of jealousy…” she quoted, knowing he would be unable to resist the literary allusion. 

Jack smirked, perching on the edge of the mattress to join her in fussing over the cat. “It is the green-eyed monster that doth mock the meat it feeds on,” he agreed, directing the remark pointedly at Antony, who cracked open a pair of bright green eyes, meeped at him a little sheepishly and consented to be ushered off the bed and out of the room. He was nothing if not chivalrous, however much it pained him. 

The snick of the lock sounded behind him, followed by a renewed bout of giggling. Feeling a little sorry for himself, Antony headed down towards the kitchen where Mr Butler had once again taken up residence. After all the excitement he was beginning to feel quite peckish again, and it was very nearly time for lunch.


End file.
